William Davis - The Polaroid club book II

Her dress had ridden far up on her thighs now with her convulsive movements on the couch, exposing the panty-covered mound of her slowly moistening womanhood. Further words caught in the depraved postal clerk's throat as he saw the tremendously enticing sight of the "V" between the beautiful young woman's thighs being exposed to his lusting eyes. His prick seemed to be throbbing madly in his pants, and he could feel drop lets of seminal fluid emanating from its unseeing eye. He had to fuck her – and soon now, before he blew his great buildup of semen into his underpants instead of into the alluring flesh of the passionate young wife next to him!

Samuels' hand trembled as he reached out with his claw-like fingers and settled his sweaty touch on one of her smooth, alabaster thighs, the digits clenching like talons as he squeezed the soft, resilient flesh.

The sensation of his reptilian-like touch penetrated the liquor and drug haze of Cindy Jamison's mind. Her eyes widened, pulled away from the picture and down to where the wizened clerk's hand now slid along her smooth inner thigh, climbing higher toward the target it sought… She emitted a low cry of terror, the spell of her desire momentarily broken, and threw the photo graphs down on the floor as she jumped convulsively to her feet. She stood there, trembling with anger and fear, the emotions which had been erased by the marijuana and the stimulating effect of the photos, but which had been brought back to the fore by the touch of this gnome-like man.

"Don't you touch me!" she screamed at him, her voice slurred and tremulous. "Don't you ever touch me again, you… you pervert!"

A fiery flush of anger turned Samuels' face the color of eggplant. He jumped to his feet, his own body shaking with anger and with desire, the front of his pants bulging obscenely with the girth of his immense penis.

"You Goddamn fucking little bitch!" he screeched. "You can't talk to me like that! You'll do what I say, and you'll like it, or I'll see to it you go to jail for ten years! I can do that, I told you! You bitch, you bitch, what right have you got to call me names? You little whore, you've been sending lewd, filthy pictures of yourself through the mail, and don't think I don't know it! I saw you fucking like a mink with your husband, legs spread out with his cock up your cunt, so who are you to act so high and mighty around me! I'm a public servant, a man watching out for the best interests of the people, and you're nothing but a lawbreaking little bitch exhibiting your hot little pussy to anyone who advertises they want to see it!"

Cindy recoiled as if struck. She stared at him, confusion returning to her mind to reign supreme. "You… you saw the… the pictures I sent?" she faltered.

"Goddamn right I did! I made copies of them, too!" screamed the half-crazed Samuels. "I have those copies in a safe place, Mrs. Jamison, and I promise you if you don't cooperate with me I'll take them and these here to the postal authorities! I'll fix you good if you don't play ball with me!"

Oh, God, oh, God! Cindy Jamison's tortured mind cried. For in that moment she knew that there was no recourse for her, that this ugly, toady little man had her completely at his mercy. And she knew what he wanted of her, what he meant by "cooperation" – and she would have to submit to his whim. If not, he would make good his threat to ruin her, ruin Howard, send her and possibly even her husband to jail just for using their privacy as they saw fit; she had no doubt at all that he would do as he threatened. She was backed into an impossible corner, and the knowledge was like choking bile in her throat in spite of the liquor and the drug to deaden the impact. She was trapped, trapped… there was no one in the whole world to whom she could turn for help!

Samuels was advancing toward her now, saliva running out of the corners of his cruel mouth, his face flushed and sweating, the front of his pants still bulging hugely. He extended his hand, and then he said, "I'm going to fuck you, Mrs. Jamison. I'm going to fuck you now, here, right in your own husband's bed. And you're going to let me do it; you're even going to join in. You don't have any other choice, Mrs. Jamison. If you don't let me fuck you, fuck you in any way I want you to, then I'll do what I said I would. Well, Mrs. Jamison? What's your answer?"

Cindy almost collapsed to the carpet under the staggering weight of his ultimatum. No place to turn, no place to run… trapped… at the mercy of this insane man… her mind chanted confusedly. I have to obey him, I have to save Howard… yes, and selfishly to save myself and our future…

"Please," she implored, her face going slack with her conviction and her eyes looking at nothing, lifeless. "Please, I'll do whatever you ask. But out here… not in the bedroom, not in my husband's bed. Please, you can't ask that of me…"

Samuels' laugh was ugly and obscene. "Can't I? Well, I am, Mrs. Jamison. I am. Now take me to the bedroom, or I'll pick you up and carry you. The bedroom, Mrs. Jamison, and be quick about it! My cock is about ready to explode with my cum, and I want to save every last drop for you!"

A cry of utter and complete helplessness tore from young Cindy Jamison's throat, and she spun on her heel and ran blindly down the short hallway at the other end of the living room. Tears streamed from her eyes, and she was sobbing uncontrollably as she flung open the bedroom door and threw herself on the bed. She lay there, moaning piteously for a moment, then she heard footsteps, heard the door close, and she swung around. Samuels stood there, and he had the fly of his trousers open, had his underpants drawn aside and the thick expanse of his penis was in the palm of his right hand, its huge, bulbous head seeming to point like a finger of doom at her.

"Take off your clothes!" he hissed. "Now, damn you, right now! Can't you see how my prick just aches for those soft little lips of yours to close around it?"

Cindy moaned again, a torture-wracked sound, but she obeyed with spasmodic fingers. She removed the housedress, pulling it over her head, then shrugged out of her bra and panties. She sat huddled like a defenseless child, naked and afraid, on the edge of the bed. Samuels' breath quickened to a harsh, nasal wheezing as he viewed for the first time in actuality the vibrant, bronze and white body of the beautiful young wife. Son of a bitch, this was going to be fine! Oh, he was going to ravage the shit out of that soft, tender flesh of hers… make her scream for him and his huge, quivering prick…

His palsied fingers tore at his clothing, ripping the garments from his thin body. At last he stood before her, naked, his huge venous cock oscillating like an arrow outward from his loins. He stroked it hungrily for a moment, then commanded in a wheezing voice, "Get up on all fours on the bed. I want you to suck my cock. Do you hear me, Mrs. Jamison? I want that soft, sweet mouth of yours licking all around my cock!"

"No-nooo!" wailed Cindy miserably. "No, please…!"

"Do what I tell you, Mrs. Jamison!" The wizened postal clerk flung himself onto the bed, spreading his legs wide, his great prick jutting upward and throbbing redly. "Now crawl like the bitch you are between my legs, Mrs. Jamison! Do it, and do it now! I'm not going to tell you again!"

I can't, I can't! the tortured young wife's mind protested. But she had no choice, no other alternative, and so her body obeyed his harsh instructions. She crawled between Samuels' open thighs like a whipped puppy submitting itself to further degradations at the hands of an inhuman master, and lowered her head almost to the tip of his upthrust cock.

Tears filled her eyes, and her tongue came out several times to moisten her lips. She squeezed her eyes shut against the tears, not daring to look, and then told herself she was doing this for Howard, for their marriage, for all that the future now promised. And then, with one last moaning, piteous cry, she reached out and grasped his swollen rod between the fingers of her right hand and began to stroke the palpitating flesh lightly, further arousing the already lust-bubbling Samuels until groans of joy rendered from his lips.